


put them back in poetry (if i only knew how)

by twelvenervouscats (crazybeagle)



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, New Relationship, absolutely the softest thing I have ever written, kitanishi if you squint, losers who don't know how to trade compliments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 04:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16130066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazybeagle/pseuds/twelvenervouscats
Summary: Kitamoto just shrugs. “I mean, you do keep staring. And from the look on your face I can’t tell if you’re happy or if you’re having indigestion.”(Or, In Which Tanuma Kaname Is Terrible At Flirting.)





	put them back in poetry (if i only knew how)

**Author's Note:**

> (Happy twelve-days-belated birthday, Tanuma--)

“It’s okay to tell him he looks good, you know.”

Kaname nearly drops the corner of the kotatsu on his foot; would have if Kitamoto hadn’t swooped in and caught it. “Wh—I never said he—”

Nishimura snorts. “You don’t have to, man.” Then, with a smirk that’s far too understanding for Kaname’s liking, “it’s the sweater, isn’t it?”

Kaname’s pretty sure he wants the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. He glances at Kitamoto, face uncomfortably hot, but there’s no help to be found there. Kitamoto just shrugs. “I mean, you do keep staring. And from the look on your face I can’t tell if you’re happy or if you’re having indigestion.”

“...oh,” Kaname says, eloquently. His palms are sweaty; he thinks he might drop the kotatsu again. Opposite him, Nishimura is  _beaming._

They’re all at Kaname’s house now, the three of them and Natsume, who’s currently curled up and dozing off on Kaname’s bed. They’d all headed to a park after Saturday classes ended, with some vague intention of practicing before Sports Day later in the month. Vague, because really the only one of them with any serious enthusiasm about the event in question was Nishimura. To be sure, it was a little optimistic to think that any of their athletic prowess could really be improved upon just by messing around in the park a few times with a pseudo-deflated basketball. But Nishimura’s enthusiasm for _any_ thing had a funny way of becoming contagious and irresistible.

They hadn’t been at it long, though, when it started to rain, then  _pour_. None of them had taken umbrellas, the forecast hadn’t called for rain until well into the evening. Kaname’s house was closest to the park so they’d booked it there, but by the time they’d made it they were all chilly and soaked to the bone. The cooler air had been a welcome change the past few days; even by mid-September Kyushu weather still tended to be overly warm and sticky. Fifteen minutes later found the four of them huddled in the genkan dripping onto the welcome mat like they’d been thrown into a lake, Natsume and Nishimura both shivering. One look at them and Dad had waved them all inside, told them to stay as long as they needed and went to put on a pot of tea.

Another fifteen minutes had them (almost) sufficiently toweled off and huddled together in Kaname’s room, wearing a mismatched assortment of most of the sweatshirts and sweaters that Kaname owned. Which, given that autumn hadn’t even properly begun until earlier in the week, took longer than it ought to have, to dig out his cooler weather clothing. His things fit Kitamoto fine, but they were too large and long for Nishimura and Natsume; Nishimura dwarfed in an old green hoodie of his with the legs of the borrowed sweatpants cuffed up so he wouldn’t trip on then. And Natsume...well.

He was wearing a sweater Aunt Satomi had given him a few Christmases ago, a dusky blue color, the softest thing Kaname owned. It was old and thoroughly worn enough that it’d lost its shape; he mostly just wore it to sleep in, now. And Natsume was swimming in it, pale fingertips peeking out from baggy sleeves. The pajama pants weren’t any better, they were too big on Kaname himself, even, and on Natsume they ballooned out almost comically where the drawstring was cinched up around his whistle-thin waist before they’d draped the comforter over him. But they were flannel, and the warmest that Kaname had—Natsume had been shivering so badly by the time they’d gotten home that _warm_ was the absolute first priority, at the moment. His knees were drawn up to his chest and he was yawning quietly into Kaname’s pillow, hair damp and mussed, silvery lashes fanned out across his cheeks.

And Kaname really, _really_ wanted to kiss him, just then.

That’s how they’d left him, anyways. It was still too early in the season to have to the kotatsu out, but it’d be far more effective than his little space heater to get them all warmed up at once. For Natsume’s part, he’d of course insisted through several poorly-concealed yawns into his hand that he himself was fine, though he’d apologetically tacked on that he was afraid he’d doze off before the storm let up enough for them to go home.

(Kaname had pulled him aside and asked him about it, earlier in the afternoon, when he’d seen just how exhausted Natsume looked. Even if he’d wanted to give a proper explanation there hadn’t been time, just enough for him to assure Kaname that all was well, that the events of last night had been more a test of his patience than any sort of real problem, and he could tell Kaname about it later, if he wanted. And Kaname took him at his word—he’d like to think by now that he can tell when Natsume is being intentionally misleading—but the freely given offer to fill him in had left his heart full to bursting and a surely dopey-looking grin plastered onto his face for the whole twenty minutes it took to walk to the park.)

Nishimura and Kitamoto, though, were having absolutely none of his unwarranted apologies for being obviously fatigued. All it’d taken was a quick glance in one another’s direction before they were both on their feet and taking Natsume by either arm, and all but hauling him over to Kaname’s bed. He didn’t bank nearly as much resistance to this sort of treatment as he might normally, and Kaname thought Natsume’s penchant for frequent, impromptu naps in this particular bed had a lot to do with that.

After that a brief round of bickering ensued between Nishimura and Kitamoto about whether they should pass the time with card games or with shogi, during which Kaname was content to let the words wash over him without having to be the decision-maker. But, inevitably, at some point they did turn to him for an opinion (“—it’s Tanuma’s house, and his birthday’s the closest, anyways, and he’d probably prefer shogi to something none of us even really know how to play. ...I mean, you would, wouldn’t you?”) And, just as inevitably, he’d been far too preoccupied to even really process the question. By the barely-there dusting of freckles the summer left behind on the bridge of Natsume’s nose, and how the scent of shampoo that’s not his own will surely be on his pillowcase tonight…

“...Tanuma?”

It took far longer than it should to realize that he was being stared at by two sets of eyes. “Ah…um. Yes.” He wasn’t quite sure if he was nodding or ducking his head, but he was looking anywhere but his bed, now.

“Do you even know what you’re agreeing to?” There was a smile in Kitamoto’s voice.

“...yes,” he said, less confidently, heat creeping into his cheeks.

Nishimura snickered. Kitamoto just clapped him on the back. “Shogi it is, then.”

They played for a few minutes; that is to say, Kitamoto played a grumbling Nishimura while Tanuma looked on, supposedly in an advisory capacity but in reality just staring very hard at the same empty square on the board.

Until Nishimura started shivering, too, at which point it was quickly settled that they should in fact set up the kotatsu.

He’d waved it off easily, though, when Kaname had apologized for not noticing he was cold (he hadn’t noticed a lot of things in the past thirty minutes or so, with one glaring exception). “It’s alright, I didn’t really even realize.” And Kaname could believe that, his cheeks were a little pink but he had the normal bounce to his step walking along beside him. Kaname wasn’t quite sure why both him and Kitamoto tagged along to help, it wasn’t really more than a two-person job but he didn’t want to seem rude by pointing that out.

“But I bet Natsume’ll be happier, anyhow,” Kitamoto added. “He doesn’t have his fat cat for a space heater today.”

And that might be for the best, Kaname thought. Ponta’s taken to teasing him whenever he catches him looking too long, which lately has been a lot more than he’d like to admit. And if Ponta couldn’t say anything with Nishimura and Kitamoto around, Kaname didn’t doubt that he’d stare him down and save all his commentary up for later, where Natsume would get to hear all about how much Kaname was in fact _looking._

“Yeah. I mean, he’s always cold, though,” Nishimura shrugged. “It’s ‘cause he’s so _little_ , I think. He can’t hold onto body heat the way he should.”

Kitamoto’s brows shot up. “ _He’s_ little?”

“Well _duh_. I could pick him up and carry him around, _easy._ ”

“He is too skinny, I’m not contesting that. But, you know,” Kitamoto’s lips twitched. “I should start keeping a tally of how many times you seem to forget that you’re shorter than him.”

“So? I could still carry him,” came the prompt, heated response.

“You should get him to let you try, y’know. For research purposes. Tanuma and I can place bets….um. Tanuma?”

“Hm?” A vague, absent syllable. All three of them had stopped walking; he wasn’t really sure when that happened.

“Is there...a reason we’re in the kitchen? The kotatsu’s not here, is it?”

“We...what? Ah. Oh.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not. Sorry.”

“You alright?” Kitamoto looked to be tactfully biting back a smile.

“Yeah, what’s goin’ on in there?” Nishimura leaned in to rap him lightly on the temple with his knuckles, grinning ear to ear.

“Nothing. Wasn’t thinking.” He pulled hastily away from Nishimura's gleeful scrutiny and took a step towards the hall. “It’s this way.”

In truth, he’d stopped tracking the conversation, and where he was going, as soon as he’d heard the words _pick him up—_ mind swept right back to a hot day by the river not so very long ago. They were both drenched, but Natsume had been light as a bird, light as stardust when Kaname lifted him up off his feet and swung him around, up out of the shallows and onto the pebbly bank, the initial squawk of protest fading into sweet, silvery laughter—

And he’d completely missed the turn in the hallway to the storage room, and they’d all wound up in the kitchen. Dad wasn’t there, but a kettle of steeping tea sat on the counter. Kaname was more than glad to flee before Dad came back, took one look at his face and asked him if he was feeling alright.

He absolutely should’ve seen it coming, that Nishimura and Kitamoto both tagged along for what was clearly a two-person job, in order to make him talk.

And now, they’re halfway back to the room with the kotatsu in tow (Nishimura on Kaname’s other side helping him carry it as though he’s got a point to prove), and he’s thinking maybe Kitamoto’s comment about indigestion may not have been so inaccurate after all.

“I mean, it _is_ adorable on him, it’s all big and floppy and he looks nice in blue,” Nishimura’s saying, “or is it just ‘cause it’s  _yours?”_

Kaname has a fleeting urge to drop the kotatsu on purpose, then, just so Nishimura will stop looking so damned smug.

“Anyways, it’s not hard to toss out a compliment. See? Hey, Acchan,” he calls over his shoulder. “You look real cute in Tanuma’s hoodie right now.”

Kitamoto gives him a longsuffering look. “Doesn’t feel genuine in this context but thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Nishimura’s returning smile is so sunny that Kitamoto’s irritation evaporates as quickly as it came, and Kaname’s not sure if he’s imagining that his ears look a little pinker than before.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Kitamoto says. “Do you really think that, aside from Touko-san, anyone’s ever actually _told_ him he’s good-looking?”

“Ex _cuse_ me, I have _definitely_ told him—”

“I meant seriously, not while complaining about how he got Valentine’s chocolates and you didn’t,” Kitamoto says easily, and Nishimura makes a wounded noise. “Anyways, it’d probably mean a lot, especially coming from you.”

“...does it have to be _now_?” Kaname’s voice is small.

“Well, not if he’s in there snoring,” Nishimura says, but he regards Kaname with a tilt of the head and a little frown. “But it shouldn’t be, y’know, hard or stressful or whatever. Besides, didn’t you guys kiss, like, two weeks ago?”

Kaname chokes on nothing. Kitamoto promptly cuffs Nishimura on the back of the head. “You  _know_ they did, and he knows you know, because you _walked in on them,_ didn’t you,” he mutters, viciously. “Don’t just bring it up like that.”

Kaname just stares.

Kitamoto’s eyes go a little wide in turn. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, he mentioned it to me.” He rubs the back of his neck a little. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t tell Taki, though,” Nishimura tacks on hastily. “I really _really_ wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“Taki knows,” Kaname says, feeling a little faint.

“Wait,  _what_?” Nishimura abruptly stops walking. “You mean I could’ve been talking to her about it this _whole time_?”

“Um...sorry?” Kaname’s mouth his dry; he’s not really sure what he’s even apologizing for.

Kitamoto sighs. “Knock it off, he’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Nishimura huffs. “You guys suck. And I am calling her the second I get home. But the point is,” he says, and there’s something very earnest in his eyes now, “it really doesn’t need to be so hard, y’know? If he looks good, or if he’s acting all adorable, or even if you’re just really happy to see him for no reason, you gotta _say_ so, with actual _words_. ‘Cause he needs it, and he sure won’t figure it out on his own.” A small, sly grin. “Even if making out is easier than talking.”

“E _nough_ ,” Kitamoto snaps, but it loses much of its effect when he looks like he’s working very hard to keep a straight face himself. They’ve reached the room, now, and Kitamoto inclines his head towards the door. “But it’s a good point. Nobody’s asking you to act all suave. He’d hate that, probably. But you guys already talk about heavy stuff, don’t you? This is important, too.”

***

When they reach the room, Natsume is, in fact, fully asleep. But he’s got the blanket yanked up around his shoulders, and he’s curled in tighter on himself, like some swaddled-up shivering pill bug.

The kotatsu’s set and warming in no time at all, and Dad brings the tea by soon after. Despite there being one whole side the kotatsu available to each of them, Nishimura is squashed right up against Kitamoto, who looks perfectly peaceful watching Nishimura flip idly through some old manga he’d plucked off Kaname’s bookshelf. The job of waking Natsume seems, intentionally, to have been placed squarely on Kaname’s shoulders.

Right, then.

“Hey.” He leans over the bed, places a hand on Natsume’s shoulder. “Kotatsu’s ready, so is the tea. Come have some.”

It doesn’t work; he wasn’t expecting it to. He sighs inwardly, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of the two sets of eyes boring into him from behind, and kneels down.

His fingers find Natsume’s hair, fair strands as impossibly soft as they look. He lets the pad of his thumb trail along a fine cheekbone, the motion near-reverent, and he tries very hard not to look too long at his lips. “Hey, let’s get you warm,” he murmurs.

The problem is that now he _knows_ now _,_ it’s only been a handful of times so far but he _knows_ what those lips feel like on his, knows what it’s like to be taken by the hand and led off the path home from school, to feel so dizzy and giddy and absolutely convinced and one more second of it would send him floating right up through the tops of the trees he was standing under.

And the _knowing_ is what’s doing a number on his sanity.

Natsume’s stirring just a bit, now, reacting to the fingers carding through his hair. His nose crinkles up, and Kaname wants to kiss him there, too, and can’t even be all that embarrassed with himself for thinking it.

“T…’n’ma…?”

“Yeah. Come on, you’re shivering.”

“Mm...no, ‘m not…”

“Really?” It takes a bit of consciously steeling himself for what he does next, granted that he has an audience; that is, to lean in and press his lips to Natsume’s forehead.

The aforementioned audience remains mercifully silent at this, but Natsume’s eyes open fully, then. He manages to crane his neck to look up at Kaname, something unguarded and sweet in his eyes, too drowsy to be properly self-conscious.

Kaname very nearly kisses him again. “Come on,” he repeats, instead.

“Hey, _both_ of you get over here,” Nishimura calls, cheerily, and Kaname starts. Natsume blinks sleepily in the direction of his voice. “I still can’t believe neither of you have ever played poker before. I’m gonna fix that.”

“You’d better come,” Kitamoto adds. “Pretty sure he wants to use those chocolates Taki made for Tanuma’s birthday as the gambling chips, you should come talk him out of it before he starts dividing ‘em up.”

“Well what  _else_ are we supposed to use? He doesn’t have real chips.”

“You just want to eat them.”

“Mm…” Natsume frowns, apparently tracking at least part of the conversation now. “Don’t do that…”

“There’s a change jar in my closet, we can use that,” Tanuma tells them over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t get too excited ‘cause it’s mostly one- and five-yens but it’d probably work better anyhow, right?” Nishimura’s eyes light up at the prospect regardless, and Kaname turns back to Natsume. “Hey, the tea’s gonna get cold. You can bring the blanket.”

***

Kaname proves to be a less-than-stellar poker player, likely in no small part from having Natsume literally asleep on his shoulder, a warm and slight weight against him, his hair tickling Kaname’s cheek, their legs tangled under the kotatsu, and all in all it proves to be _very_ distracting. And all that aside, he has a bit of difficulty following Nishimura’s meandering explanation, given through pilfered mouthfuls of chocolate.

“Dude, you’re supposed to _bet_ when you’ve got a hand like that.” Nishimura slides approximately 20 yen across the tabletop to his own already generous coin pile. “You’d have beat me if you had. Too bad, I guess,” he says with a wholly unrepentant shrug. “I’m robbing you blind here.”

In truth Kaname doesn’t think Nishimura’s winnings amount to more than 200, and probably less, but he holds his tongue.

“I think it’d help next time if you wrote down what all the winning hands actually are,” Kitamoto says, not unkindly. “It’s a lot to remember if you’ve never played.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Nishimura says, eyes flicking between Kaname’s face and the coin pile. “Sorry. Um. Can I still keep the change?”

Kaname grins. “Yeah. But writing it down will make it easier if you want to teach Natsume later.”

Kitamoto shoots Natsume a quick glance. He’s still dead to the world; Kaname can feel his soft, even breaths against his shirt, the scent of shampoo and something like rain in his nose. “It’s probably better that Natsume didn’t play,” Kitamoto observes. “As soon as he figured out the rules I think he’d have destroyed us all. You’d never know if he was lying or not.”

Nishimura considers this, then shudders. “Keep him asleep, Tanuma. I’m getting cocoa with this on the way home.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” He has to stifle a yawn of his own as he says it; apparently it’s catching.

“....although,” Nishimura adds, slyly, after a long moment, “I was _almost_ tempted to just make you tell him he looked nice in your sweater, if I won.”

Kaname just sighs. “Hey, Natsume,” he says, not even really bothering to lower the volume of his voice. “You look nice in my sweater.” He raises an eyebrow at Nishimura. “There. Now hand it over.” He starts to reach towards Nishimura’s pile, only to have his hand promptly smacked away.

“That doesn’t count,” Nishimura and Kitamoto say, in unison.

Natsume sleeps on.

***

He stays that way, for some hours, until Kaname has to rouse him long enough to eat dinner and have a bath. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so the Fujiwaras hadn’t had a problem with Natsume staying the night. But Nishimura and Kitamoto had both promised to be home, so they’d left, with their borrowed clothes and borrowed umbrellas out into the chilly downpour that had never really let up, Nishimura with half a jar of change triumphantly in hand.

Now, it’s just after eight in the evening, and Natsume’s already drifting off again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, yawning into his pajama sleeve—dad’s pajamas, because Kaname hadn’t had any more clean warm clothes to spare. He’s lying on the floor, the bottom half of him still under the kotatsu, the rest of him sprawled out on the pile of cushions and pillows Kaname had laid out for him, with a soft blanket draped over his chest. “I’m being a lousy guest, i think...and I was supposed to tell you about last night, too…”

“That can wait,” Kaname tells him, reaching over and tucking a damp strand of hair behind his ear. He regrets not owning a hair dryer; between the rain and the bath Natsume️’s spent several hours now with a wet head, and Kaname’s not sure if that can _actually_ make a person ill or not but he doesn’t want Natsume to prove it true. Maybe a dryer’s something he ought to save up for.

“Mm…” Natsume leans into his touch, a bleary grin on his lips. “‘S nothing all that interesting, or important...might make you laugh, though. The Chukyuu needed my help with some...stuff…” He trails off, eyelids drooping.

“And the ‘stuff’ took all night, then?” He lets his hand trail down from Natsume’s hair to his shoulder. They’re lying facing one another, only maybe a half-meter of space between them, the distance easily traversed by Kaname’s arm. Kaname thinks, fleetingly, that this might be difficult to explain to Dad, in the event he were to drop by the room—unlikely, given that Dad had already bade them both goodnight and gone to work in his office, but still, the door’s not exactly locked. Then he’s struck with another, somehow more embarrassing thought, that maybe there wouldn’t really be much explaining _to_ do; just because Kaname hadn’t quite yet worked up the nerve to _tell_ Dad that he and Natsume were...whatever it was that they were, didn’t mean he hadn’t already worked it out for himself. He hadn’t really been trying to hide it (and getting up to lock his door _now_ would be the deadest of dead giveaways), but even if he had, he’s always been lousy at keeping things from Dad. In any case, mortifying as the ensuing discussion was sure to be, he doesn’t believe that Dad would really take issue with it, and even if he did, he couldn’t imagine him treating Natsume poorly for it, any more than he could imagine the Fujiwaras ever treating Natsume poorly for literally anything.

“M-hmm,” Natsume’s saying, now, dreamily, and it takes Kaname an extra second to recall just what he’d asked in the first place. “...was a sacred fountain involved, then a sacred rock, then a sacred cave, then a sacred maple grove...some other sacred stuff, too, don’t remember right now…” He yawns, and nuzzles the pillow just a bit. “Took more than one night, actually, was out half the night the night before…”

“Geez, really?” Kaname frowns. “No wonder you’re so wiped out, couldn’t you have told them no?”

“Maybe,” he says, with a little one-armed shrug. “Was just the Chuukyuu at first, but then everyone else got on board with it, and got all excited…’cept Sensei, but that’s normal.”

Kaname finds his hand, laces their equally clammy fingers together. “That’s why you came today too, wasn’t it?”

Natsume hums his assent, eyes closing fully. “Don’t think I really contributed much, though.”

“I don’t think _contributing_ was really the point.” He grins. “But you definitely contributed to our overall sucking at basketball, so there’s that.”

At some point that afternoon, not long before the skies had opened up and forced them home, their supposed competition to outshoot one another had eventually grown so pathetic that it’d more or less devolved into a contest of who could shoot the _worst_ basket. And ‘til his dying day Kaname will never forget the little smirk on Natsume’s lips, the spark of unadulterated mischief that’d lit his tired eyes when he’d caught the ball, spun on his heel and proceeded to chuck the ball as hard as he could in the complete opposite direction, right into the topmost branches of a nearby tree.

“Yes. Go team.” He peeks a single eye open. “We’re all doomed come Sports Day.”

“Well Kitamoto might not be so bad,” Kaname concedes, “and Nishimura _tries_ , at least. But you and me? Definitely.”

Natsume groans, buries his face in the pillow. “Just wake me when it’s over.”

“Got it.” His hand finds Natsume’s head once more, and he’s silent for just a moment, taken with what the soft low light of the room is doing to the pale strands beneath his fingers. “Do you want to move to the bed?” he asks, softly, not quite sure if Natsume’s already dropped off to sleep. “I’ll take a futon tonight, I don’t mind. Or we can both move to the living room if you’d rather.”

“No,” is the prompt, albeit muffled, response. “‘m never moving from this spot. Warm.”

“Fair enough.” He sidles just a bit closer, lets his hand trail down, up, down from Natsume’s shoulder to his elbow and back, a giddy kind of warmth bubbling up in his chest with each motion because this is something he can _do_ now, little touches that seem like the most right and natural thing in the world. Natsume appears to be melting even further into the cushion pile beneath him.

“Mm...you’re petting me like a cat…”

“You’re acting like one,” Kaname replies easily.

“‘M sorry, though.” He turns his face fully out of the cushion to offer Kaname a small sheepish grin. “Didn’t mean to ruin the evening by being sleepy.”

“Don’t be.” Kaname squeezes his shoulder. “There’s literally nothing I can think of that I’d want to be doing right now that's  _not_ sitting and watching you be sleepy.”

His brow crinkles a bit. “What—”

“It’s cute,” Kaname blurts, before he can lose his nerve. “When you’re sleepy. You’re cute.”

It takes Natsume an extra second or two longer than it might have normally to process his words, eyes finally growing wide, but before he can reply Kaname’s talking again.

“I mean. You are, all the time. I’m sorry I haven’t really said that, yet.” He hopes the dimness of the room is enough to disguise the fact that his face is on fire, but there’s a fat chance of that when he can see clear as day the deep pink flush blooming across Natsume’s cheeks.

“...oh,” Natsume says, softly, after a moment. “...thank you.” His tone implies that he’s not quite sure what to do with this information, and Kaname briefly wonders if he’s just gone and bungled the whole moment.

There’s an apology on the tip of Kaname’s tongue when Natsume speaks again. “But, you know,” he says, quiet and thoughtful. “I haven’t told you, either.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Your eyes,” Natsume’s saying, at the same time, and Kaname promptly shuts up. “Your eyes,” he repeats. “They’re purple, sometimes, did you know?”

“They’re...what?” He reaches towards his own face, without quite realizing it, fingers hovering near his temple.

“They’re purple,” Natsume says, looking at him steadily, but he sounds a little less sure of himself, now. “Just every now and then, since the mirror youkai possessed you. I didn’t say anything, in case it made you feel strange, ‘cause it was sort of my fault it happened anyways, but.” He takes a breath, lets it out. “It’s nice, anyways. Even if I’m probably the only one that can tell.”

A heavy pause ensues, Kaname trying and failing to figure out just how to adequately respond to this information, and something like shame flits through Natsume’s eyes. “Sorry,” he begins, in a much smaller voice. “I guess that was too weird to be a good compli—”

The rest of the word is swallowed up by Kaname’s lips.

It’s admittedly clumsy, and it takes Natsume several seconds to reciprocate. But his mouth is cool, and it tastes like Kaname’s toothpaste, and his face fits between Kaname’s hands like it’s always belonged there.

When they break apart, Natsume’s flush has deepened into a spectacular scarlet, and he looks a little dizzy; Kaname thinks he’s too worn out to keep at it for very long.

Kaname slides his hands to rest on the back of Natsume’s neck. “They were right,” he murmurs, breathless. “This is easier…”

“Hm?” Natsume’s eyes have gone half-mast again, a dreamy grin touching his lips.

“Nothing. You should get some sleep.”

“Mm...don’t want to yet.”

“Okay.” He leans in, presses their foreheads together. “Then why don’t you talk about my eyes some more.”

 _That_ earns him a faint glare. “You’re teasing me.”

Kaname shakes his head, then kisses him right on the tip of his nose (because this, too, is in fact a thing he can just _do_ now, and he makes a note to do it as often as possible from now on). “I would _never_ do that.”

The glare softens into a smile, little at first, then unfolding into something open and lovely and for Kaname alone. He’s dead sure his returning grin must be as idiotic as it feels, but he can’t bring himself to care.

After a moment, he asks, “Purple, though? For real?”

“Mhmm…not like hers, though. Darker. Sort of a violet color.” Natsume can’t properly keep his eyes open anymore, and it’s getting a little tough to understand him when every other word is coming out on a yawn. “First time I saw...I thought you’d got possessed again. Sensei said you weren’t, though...said it was traces of her power left behind, like she’d left an impression on you...or something—” His words are cut off by his own giant yawn, which stretches out his mouth and scrunches up his nose. “I dunno. ‘S pretty, though.”

“...ah. Thanks.” It sounds stilted and inadequate, and maybe like it’s the wrong thing to say entirely, but that doesn’t stop Kaname’s heart from feeling like it’s too warm and too full to fit properly inside his chest. “Are you changing your mind about not going to sleep?” he adds, tapping Natsume’s temple very gently beside his fully closed eyes. Natsume nods, docile, and allows himself to be pulled close.

By the time it occurs to Kaname to say it, not two minutes later, he senses it’s already too late. “You should know,” he whispers into Natsume’s damp hair nonetheless, “you looked really nice in my sweater, earlier.”

He was right; his only response is a soft snore against his collarbone. But it’s no matter, he thinks, resting his cheek against the top of Natsume’s head. He can’t quite tell where his legs end and the irresistible warmth of the kotatsu begins, and the cold rain is pelting the windows outside, and Kaname thinks he could die happy here and now.

He’s not quite properly tired, not yet, but he lets his eyes close nonetheless. Anything he has to say can wait until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> (Come shout at me on tumblr, @owletstarlet!)


End file.
